For you blue
by espiyo
Summary: Set post-S9. Alec and Ruth are to go undercover at the wedding of a Mafia Don's daughter. But the best laid plans... Yet again, some fluff and not a lot of angst. I must be sickening for something!
1. Chapter 1

**I know I have one story unfinished and another unwritten, sorry. I'm hoping that once I get this down on paper, as it were, the muses will stop wandering off at tangents and let me get on with them. ;) Thanks as ever for reading, hope you enjoy.**

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'What do you mean, you can't go?'

'I've done my back in, Harry. It's gone into spasm. I can hardly bloody walk.'

Harry rubbed his forehead. 'Do you need anything? Painkillers?'

'No, no, I'm sorted, thanks. But this evening's just not an option.'

'Right. Right. Well, thanks for letting me know.'

Harry disconnected the call and groaned. His first Saturday night off for weeks, and he'd been looking forward to spending it with a takeaway, a bit of Led Zep, and a bottle of Pinot Noir. He glanced at his watch. Dimitri would still be in Yorkshire with his asset; he had no choice but to do it himself. Trudging upstairs he showered, shaved and contemplated his wardrobe, eventually plumping for a navy suit and pale blue shirt. Less than thirty minutes later he was in his car and heading to the Grid.

* * *

As the pods hissed open Malcolm emerged from the Forgery Suite. 'Harry? I thought you had tonight off.'

'So did I. Alec is...indisposed.'

'Oh dear. So does that mean...'

'Indeed it does.'

'Oh dear.'

'Care to elaborate on your lack of enthusiasm, Malcolm?'

'Not really, no.'

'Okay. Let me rephrase that. Elaborate on your lack of enthusiasm, Malcolm.'

''Well...we created a legend for a couple, and you two...well...you don't exactly seem to be getting on terribly well at the moment.'

'We should be pretty convincing as a couple, then.' He sighed. 'Malcolm, we're both professionals, and grown ups to boot. We'll be fine. Now, can you get me wired up, please?'

He followed Malcolm through to the Armoury, half listening to the younger man's rhapsodising about the various options on offer. These were, however, swiftly narrowed down when Harry realised that most of them would depend on his keeping on his jacket and tie. 'It's July, Malcolm. I'm going to a wedding reception. There'll be alcohol, food and, god forbid, dancing. I've no inclination to sit trussed up like a Christmas turkey all night.'

'Rightio.' Frowning, Malcolm returned to his box of tricks.

'Can't you just give me the same gizmos as you gave Alec?'

'Impossible, I'm afraid. He's got a prototype. It's very clever, actually, based on a Bulgarian...'

And as Malcolm fluttered around him, enthusiastically imparting minutiae about Cold War militaria, a weary Harry zoned out and turned his thoughts to the evening ahead.

* * *

For a moment he thought Alec had forewarned Ruth and she was pretending to be out, but as he reached to ring the bell a second time the door was flung open and she stood on the threshold before him, her face alight.

'Sorry, sorry, I...Harry! What are you doing here? Where's Alec?...Harry?'

She was wearing a dark blue sleeveless, strapless dress, fitted to the waist then flaring out slightly in soft folds to just below the knee. Matching high heels, surely too high to dance in, brought her up almost to his height. Her hair was up, wispy tendrils framing her face, which for the first time in longer than he cared to remember was expertly, but subtly, made up. A silver necklace nestled just below her collarbone, the only piece of jewellery she wore.

Words deserted him as quickly as her smile had faded.

'I...um...he..he hurt his back. Sent his apologies. And me.'

'Huh. Do you really expect me to believe that? Harry, exactly how stupid do you think I am?'

'I'm...I'm sorry?'

'As setups go that is particularly pathetic. Even for you.'

'I promise, if it is any kind of setup, I knew nothing about it, and if it makes you feel any better, I had rather more leisurely pursuits planned for my evening off.'

'Well, how about we head to Alec's local and witness a miracle cure?'

He pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Or how about we just go to this bloody reception and see if we can pick up any useful intel? Is an evening in my company really all that repugnant a prospect?'

She took in the slump of his shoulders, the resignation in his voice, and felt a stab of guilt. 'I'll just get my things.'

* * *

In the taxi he checked the intercom was off then asked about their legends.

Ruth, busy adjusting her pashmina, took a moment to respond. 'Will Bennet, late 40s, architect...'

'I know bugger all about architecture, Ruth.'

'You're not arguing about the 'late 40s' I notice...anyway, Alec does. You're a partner in a small firm that specialises in listed buildings. Divorced, no children. You live in Merton and we...we've been an item for seven months. We met at the British Museum. I dropped my scarf, you picked it up, and...'

'And what?'

Her focus remained fixed on a point in the middle distance. 'And our eyes met and it was love at first sight.'

Harry swallowed. 'This is the legend you created for you and Alec? Is there something I should know, Ruth?'

The fingers clutching her handbag were still. 'No.'

He wondered what aspect of his question this was an answer to. 'So who is the woman Will is besotted with?'

'Sarah Austin, early 40s, academic. English Lit. Unmarried, no children. Lives in Wimbledon.

As they wound through the city streets in the evening sunshine, he sat back and let her voice wash over him. At least over the past weeks he'd read the files and knew the bride, groom and their families: he probably knew them better than they did themselves.


	2. Chapter 2

**A speedy update. The only way to stop me tweaking the blummin' thing! Thank you for the reviews.  
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As the taxi pulled up outside the hotel, Harry scanned the car park for the obbo van, spotting it in the far corner in the shade of a beech tree. He paid the driver and they stepped out of the cab, surreptitiously activating their comms as it drove off.

'Tariq, do you copy?'

Both received answers in the affirmative.

'Do you have visuals?'

Sam, the techie seconded from C Section to help out Tariq for the evening, gave a low whistle as the feed from Harry's camera came through. Tariq glanced at the monitor, his eyes widening at the vision that was Ruth.

'Oi,' he said. 'Enough of that.' Then to Harry he confirmed, 'Yep, we have visuals from you...'

The distortion on the second monitor then cleared to reveal the entrance to the hotel. 'Ruth, we have visuals from you too.' The two techies settled down to watch and Harry and Ruth made their way into the cool gloom of the foyer.

Following the receptionist's directions they made their way through the hotel towards the rear. As they approached the function suite, Harry happily walking a couple of paces behind, the door swung open, releasing a burst of voices and laughter. A waitress stood on the threshold, balancing a tray of glasses on her fingertips. She smiled.

'Hello! Would you like some Prosecco?'

Thanking her, both took a glass and went through. The room was huge, bright and airy, with french doors open to the gardens at the far end. A number of guests milled, chattering, outside, soaking up the last of the sunshine. Two of the three walls were lined with tables, which were piled high with a selection of antipasti and bottles of beer, wine and mineral water. The evening, Harry thought, was beginning to look up. He was aware of Ruth at his elbow.

'Anyone?' She looked up. 'Or have you not taken your eyes off the buffet long enough to look?'

'If I were checking out the guests you'd accuse me of eyeing up the women,' he said, drily. 'No, no familiar faces yet. So, should we mingle?'

As if on cue, an immaculately dressed elderly woman came up to Ruth and cupped her hands. 'Ah, the lovely Sarah, I think, no? I am Luisa, Alessia's mama. I have heard sooo much about you.' She kissed Ruth enthusiastically on both cheeks and stepped back, beaming. 'And this handsome young man...?'

'Oh,' Ruth's hand closed around Harry's arm, ' this is my partner, Will.'

Harry's greeting was similarly effusive, then Luisa took his hand and reached for Ruth's.

'Come, you two, I will introduce you, and then you must eat, eat, before Alessia and Massimo arrive.'

Bemused, Harry and Ruth followed her across the room, and then began a bewildering round of introductions to both families' sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, in laws, cousins, aunts, uncles, neighbours, friends, none of whom, Harry was sure, were on their files anywhere. He wondered, though, where Alessia's father was, and why they hadn't been introduced. Seemingly oblivious to the omission Ruth was, to the delight of their hosts, chattering away in Italian, her face animated, hands vividly accentuating her words. At one point she turned to him, smiling, and squeezed his arm, and her audience laughed. All he could do was shrug and smile.

At a pause in the conversation he gave his apologies and slipped away, filling a plate with bread, cheese and cold meats as his eyes roved the room for Valerio di Matteo.

'Malcolm,' he said quietly, 'is anything getting flagged up yet?'

'Negative, Alpha One.'

'Tariq, have a look at the CCTV, see if you can find di Matteo.'

'Harry...' broke in Malcolm's voice, reproving.

'Sorry. Bravo One. Let me know if he's here and if he's been having any little tête à têtes with anyone.'

'Copy that.'

Downing his Prosecco he wound his way across the room, ears alert to anything noteworthy, chewing on focaccia, parma ham and mozzarella. Stepping outside, he ambled across the grass into the shade of a towering elm tree, and leaning against the trunk he cleared his plate, savouring every mouthful.

'Can I get you some more? You look like you enjoyed that!'

He looked up to see dark brown eyes framed by tumbling, glossy curls, and a figure that made him silently cheer Alec's misfortune.

He smiled. 'In a moment, perhaps. Don't want to be greedy. Sorry, I don't think we've been introduced. Will Bennet.'

'Livia Astori.'

They shook hands.

'So, bride or groom?'

'Bride. My partner's a friend of Alessia's. You?'

'Groom.' She smiled. 'An old flame.'

'The one that got away, eh?'

She shrugged. 'He wanted children, I didn't.'

Discomfited by the personal turn the conversation had taken, Harry asked, 'So what happens now? I'm not really clued up on Italian wedding receptions.'

They paused to grab more Prosecco from the circling tray.

'Oh, Alessia and Massimo should arrive very soon. All the guests form a...how you call it, guard of honour for them, then they dance, then the parents, then everyone. Dancing, speeches, eating, drinking, laughing, talking, this is it. Not so different from the English, I think. Now, which lucky lady is your partner?'

Harry beckoned with his glass towards the gloom of the interior. 'Sarah. She's inside practising her Italian. Blue dress, pink scarf, hair all...' his free hand mimed something approximating her updo.

'Ah, the lady with the beautiful smile.'

He blushed. 'That's the one.'

'And why are you out here? You should be with her, showing her off. Showing her how proud you are of her.'

Harry's mouth twitched. 'Not sure she'd thank me for that.'

Livia raised her eyebrows, and linking her arm through Harry's, said, 'Come on. You can introduce me.'

As they approached the doorway they heard shouts from within.

'Ah, the happy couple are coming. Go find your Sarah. Ciao, bello.' Livia planted a pillarbox red kiss on his cheek and sashayed off, Harry unashamedly watching her go.

'If you've finished eyeing up the women, Alessia and Massimo are about to arrive.' He turned to find Ruth standing behind him, the humour in her words not quite reaching her eyes.

He held up his hands. 'Sorry. Any sign of Valerio yet?'

She nodded. 'According to Tariq he's just arrived, with a couple of implausible looking guests.'

'Bodyguards?'

'I assume so.'

Brow furrowed, Harry followed Ruth back inside to welcome the bride and groom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Last high speed update! Very short. Chapter four will follow as soon as poss.  
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After the first dance, the rest of the bridal party took to the floor, swiftly followed by the rest of the guests. As the dance floor filled, Harry steered Ruth into the garden and out of sight of the windows. 'What have you got?'

'I haven't picked up anything. The audio might, I suppose, but...'

'Tariq said there was nothing untoward on CCTV either. D'you think Six have given us a bum steer?'

She contemplated. 'Maybe, but there's time enough yet. Although if I thought my father was using my wedding as an opportunity to discuss gun running and drug smuggling I'd be livid. Have we got surveillance set up on him once he leaves here?'

Suddenly, they heard footsteps behind them, and before Ruth could react Harry pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Instinctively her hands reached between them to push him away, only for her to remember their legends; instead she curled her arms round his back, and her lips parted, moved against his. Somewhere there was voices, laughter, but all she was aware of was the softness of his lips, the scent of him, the taste of him, the feeling of him pressed against her, the touch of his hand on her face, her neck, her back...

She broke the kiss. Even in the fading light she could see the desire in his eyes. She touched her fingertips to his lips. Reluctantly his hands dropped to his sides. 'Sorry. Sorry.' He took a gulp of air, trying to slow his breathing. 'Do you think they heard us?'

She rubbed her forehead, and gave a bashful grin. 'Given that they shouted what I think was the Italian equivalent of 'go on, my son' and 'get a room', somehow I doubt it.'

He chuckled. 'Come on, we'd best get back inside before we're missed. I need you to schmooze di Matteo.'

Ruth stopped, mid-stride. '_Schmooze?_'

'Bit of banter, bit of flirting, dance with him if you think it might persuade him to reveal all about why he's moved over here.' Harry realised she was no longer walking beside him and turned. He took in the look of furious incredulity on her face. 'What?' His tone was perplexed.

'A few seconds ago you had your tongue down my throat. Now you're pimping me out to some mafia don?'

Harry gave an exasperated snort. 'Ruth, this is work. I'm not _pimping you out_, as you so eloquently put it, to anyone. I'm merely asking you to charm the bugger into giving you some intel we may be able to use.'

'Yeah, typical wedding reception conversation, really. _So, tell me, do you have any top tips for smuggling Heckler and Kochs past customs? _Or how about, _so how many grams of coke do you get for your euro these days_?_'_

'Keep your voice down, for god's sake, and stop over-reacting. Ros would've been sitting on his lap hand-feeding him peeled Tuscan grapes by now. However unpalatable it is sometimes, it's what we _do_.'

'It's not what I do. I'm not Ros, and I'm not a field operative, I'm...'

'Tonight you are,' he said firmly. 'I need you to do this, Ruth.'

'Sarah,' she snapped, and strode past him back into the function suite.


	4. Chapter 4

**Very short update. One more to go after this, I think. Thank you very much for the lovely reviews!**

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Harry sighed. 'Tariq...'

'It's wiped, it's wiped.'

'Thank you. Ma...Zulu One, do you copy?'

'Copy that, Alpha One.'

'Anything on the facial recog?'

'The only red flags are the two bodyguards. Carmine Cannavaro and Pietro Girardi. Unknown to us but they ring alarm bells with Six and Interpol. Their involvement is suspected in arson, extortion, GBH...but none of it has ever been proven.'

'And now they're living on our patch. Great. Find out whatever you can about where they're living and working and arrange for surveillance to be set up. Just cameras and phone taps for now, mobiles too if you can.'

'Copy that. Roger and out.'

* * *

To her relief, Valerio di Matteo was otherwise engaged, making slow and erratic progress across the dance floor with his young niece, her feet on top of his, her hands clasped in his paws. Smiling despite herself, Ruth felt a hand on her arm and turned.

'Oh my goodness, Sarah! You look so beautiful!' Alessia held her at arm's length for a moment, admiring the transformation, then pulled her into a hug. 'Thank you so much for coming! Are you having fun?'

The woman's genuine pleasure in seeing Ruth only served to accentuate her gnawing feeling of guilt at her deception and at what the security services were hoping to do to Alessia's family. But, as Harry had once told her, Ruth was a born spook and she played her part to enthusiastic perfection.

Eventually, with fulsome apologies and promises of lunch after the honeymoon, Alessia was steered away towards the dance floor by her brother, and Ruth looked around for Harry. To her amusement, he was earnestly listening to an elderly woman; short, solid, in funereal black and sensible shoes, who seemed to be teaching him how to waltz.

'Tariq, are you getting this?' she asked, mischievously.

'Ohhhh yes. Loud and clear!'

Ruth smothered a grin and contemplated going to rescue Harry, before deciding that food and a glass of wine was a much more enticing prospect. And then, she sighed, she'd better do something about Signor di Matteo.

* * *

She felt a hand on her back, lips at her ear. 'So, who's this you're chatting up, sweetheart?'

As the fingertips drifted down to nestle round her waist, she resisted the urge to grind her heel into his bespoke brogues, and instead did the introductions. The two men shook hands.

'Congratulations, signor, you have a very beautiful daughter. And it's been a lovely evening.'

The grizzled head inclined slightly.

'We've just been talking about Sig di Matteo's new business venture,' said Ruth.

'Oh?'

'Importing foodstuffs from Italy for his deli.'

'Is that so?'

The little currant eyes glittered and an arm circled the room. 'You do not think all this from Tesco, huh?'

Harry smiled. 'So whereabouts is this deli, then? I could do with somewhere near me which sells fruit and veg that actually tastes of something.'

'We're still looking, we're still looking. Clapham maybe. Islington maybe. Who knows.'

'Well, I have friends in the property game. If you'd like their details let me know.'

_Dimitri as an estate agent? _Ruth thought. _Well, he'd certainly have the patter._

All around them, candles were being lit. The Italian followed her gaze. 'Almost time for speeches,' he explained.

* * *

Massimo Tabbiani was a splinter of a man, with the nose of a brawler and the smile of an angel. He also, it appeared, had a talent for public speaking; although London born and bred he spoke Italian fluently, and while Harry had no idea what he was saying, going by the expressions on the faces of the women around him he was fairly sure it was a declaration of love to his new wife that would have made Ovid proud. Ruth sat beside him, enraptured; in the glow of the candlelight she was dewy eyed, her cheeks flushed, her lips forming a soft smile, and he felt a sudden surge of emotion so intense he wanted to cry out. Not wanting to spoil the moment, but desperate to communicate with her in some small way, he reached for her lap and gently laid his hand over hers. Immediately her hand shifted and, resigned, he moved his to lift it away, only to feel their fingers entwining.

For the first time in his life, Harry prayed for a speech that would last til dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

**I should probably wait til the morning, and tweak this and proof it with fresh eyes. But - nae patience, me. Given the silliness of the hour (nearly 2am), I hope it's okay, and that you enjoy!**

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As the applause died down and the lights went back up, the waiting staff moved between the tables, laying platters of fruit and cakes and pastries. Harry and Ruth tucked in as if they hadn't eaten for a month.

'Y'know,' she said, in between mouthfuls of Babà, 'I'm feeling rather sorry for Tariq and Sam. They've probably had nothing but crisps and garage sandwiches all day.'

Harry's tongue chased a blob of cream along his top lip. 'Getting to play with hi-tech toys at the weekend? Pigs in clover.'

She lowered her voice. 'D'you think we could...send them home yet? I don't think anything's going to happen tonight and they have sorted the suites, haven't they?'

Harry recalled the bag of tricks Malcolm had sent Tariq away with the previous day. 'Yes, I'd imagine they're fixed to record everything except his bloody dreams. But as far as Tariq and Sam are concerned this is an all-nighter. No matter what it looks like right now, anything could happen.'

Behind them, the DJ was back on duty, and as the lights dimmed and the opening chords of _You're the First, the last, my everything_ boomed out, Ruth's head shot up. 'Ohhh, I love this song. Come on.'

Before Harry could react, her Babà was abandoned and she was halfway towards the dance floor. Bemused, he took a quick slug of his Peroni then followed her.

'...Sarah...your shoes.' He indicated her bare feet. 'You'll wind up in A+E with...'

'Not _that_ bad a dancer, are you?' Grinning mischievously she grabbed his hand, and holding it above her head she pirouetted on the spot. Smiling, Harry put his hand on her waist, stilling her.

'I'll have you know I'm quite the twinkletoes. It's amazing the things you pick up in my line of work.'

'Eh, excuse me, I saw your efforts at waltzing earlier. I don't think we'll see you on telly getting 'darlinged' by Craig Revel Horwood any time soon.'

'Trust me, I taught that man everything he knows.' Straightfaced.

As Ruth laughed, Harry swept her seamlessly backwards into a dip. Her eyes widened and he smiled. 'Believe me yet?' he asked softly. 'Signora Moretti doesn't think Englishmen can dance, and who was I to disabuse her? You, on the other hand...'

'Me on the other hand, what?' asked Ruth, now upright and slightly breathless.

'You..I aim to persuade otherwise.'

By now, the alcohol was making feet clumsy and reflexes slow, but Harry expertly negotiated their way round the dancefloor. He knew little of the music - he'd spent most of the 80s trying not to get shot, not listening to Top of the Pops - but Ruth obviously did, and little by little he could feel her relax and edge closer towards him. At some point he became aware that the pop music had given way to ballads and that those still dancing were all couples. As if sensing his disquiet she raised her head to look up at him.

'Are you alright?' he whispered. 'Feet not too sore?'

Her eyes never leaving his, she let go of his hand and gently laid her palm against his face, now gritty with stubble. As her thumb trailed across his cheek the music was lost to him; all he could hear was the hammering of his own heart. Finally, her gaze fell to his mouth, and he felt her reach round to the back of his head, and tilt it down til his lips met hers.

* * *

Alessia was already half way up the stairs by the time Harry pushed Ruth into the throng of women standing in the foyer. 'Go on,' he grinned. 'You know you want to.'

'How can you remotely think I buy into...will you get your hand off my backside?' she hissed.

His face the picture of innocence, he held up his palms. 'Go on!' he repeated.

Muttering curses under her breath, Ruth turned to face the staircase just as a blur of pink and white hurtled towards her. Instinctively she flung up her hands, and as a cheer went up, she realised she was clutching Alessia's bouquet. Blushing furiously, she tried to give it to the woman standing beside her; laughing, she demurred, and bending towards Ruth she whispered, 'He obviously loves you very much. I'm sure you won't have too long to wait.'

Too taken aback to say anything, Ruth turned and her eyes met Harry's. Not for the first time that night, her stomach flipped.

* * *

'Oh, stop grinning.'

'I can't help it. Ruth. I'm happy. I've had a great time tonight.'

'You've had a skinful, you mean.'

'I might have partaken of one or two small refreshments.'

'Pffft!'

They continued in silence for a few minutes, the light from the street lamps giving snapshots of the two of them sitting leaning into each other, his arm around her shoulders.

'You didn't have to bloody _dive_ like that,' Ruth muttered, as the taxi crossed Westminster Bridge.

'I didn't dive, I jumped. All those years in rugby line-outs obviously paid off.'

'Well, you shouldn't have bothered. It was totally mortifying, Harry. All those people watching and cheering while you...'

'So mortifying I notice you're still wearing it.' With his free hand he teased her dress up her thigh, revealing a glimpse of blue garter before her hand clamped down on his.

'I think I've given the world and his wife enough entertainment for one night, don't you?'

'It's...' he checked his watch, 'it's gone 2am, Ruth. A brand new day. The embarrassment counter has been reset to zero.'

He could sense her smiling in the darkness. 'Don't you bloody dare, Harry Pearce, or I'll see to it that the waltz footage winds up on YouTube.'

* * *

As they approached Ruth's street, both lapsed into silence; unsure what to say or even whether to say anything at all. Harry didn't want the evening to end, and he was pretty sure Ruth didn't either, but after the past few difficult months he was damned if he was going to risk the détente that seemed to have arisen over the course of the past few hours. Ruth, mentally replaying their second kiss, was wondering how on earth to tell him that she wanted him to take her to bed without coming across as a total strumpet.

The taxi drew to a halt outside her house, and he hesitated, not knowing whether he should make a move to pay the driver. To his chagrin, Ruth unbuckled herself and stood, reaching for the door handle. There was his answer. Resigned, his head lolled against the headrest as he watched her step out onto the pavement. She turned to him, holding the door, and he fixed his face into an expression of friendly farewell.

'Harry, I...' Even in the darkness she was sure he could tell she was blushing. 'I think I might need a bit of help getting that garter off.' She winced. How subtle, how romantic, how _classy_. Not.

But in one swift movement he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his wallet.

As he closed the taxi door behind him they stood for a moment, their eyes locked, then shyly she took his hand and led him inside.

THE END


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